


Miracle Mile

by Missy



Category: Psych
Genre: Banter, Case Fic, Crime Fighting, Cults, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Kidnapping, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 21:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1702811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn and Gus find a body, and the deceased turns out to be a friend from Gus' childhood.   When the man's partner threatens to kill him, the entire team races to protect Gus from danger and solve the mystery.  Meanwhile, Shawn and Lassiter prepare to compete in a marathon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miracle Mile

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for Friendship Big Bang. Months have passed since the due date and the mods aren't responding to PMs, so I'm going ahead and posting this independently.

“Shawn. SHAWN.” Burton Guster had balanced his aching feet upon a very large metal pylon and was doing his damnedst to capture his best friend’s attention. “Shawn! You’re two minute behind your best time!”

Shawn Spencer, that erstwhile was wearing a bright neon green tank top, a cluster of blue sweatbands and a dark grey pair of jogging shorts- all of which were liberally doused with sweat. He chugged his way toward Gus, panting, sticky from his exertion. “One more…trip round….I’ve got…to see…top Lassie…”

Gus frowned, glanced again at his stopwatch, then watched Shawn as he frantically windmilled in place. “Shawn, if you do don’t stop you’ll dehydrate.”

“But…if…do stop…I’ll…be…a…girlyman…” He extended his arms, waving his fingers over his head. “Jazz-hands, jazz hands, jazz hands!”

“Sorry, I don’t buy into your version of masculinity, Shawn. I think a man can be smoothly sensual AND cry like a baby when Bambi’s mom dies…”

“And…During…ET…” 

“And During ET.” Gus pouted. “You look like a fool, man. And you’re gonna slap Ella Fitzgerald’s ghost if you keep it up,” he glowered.

“Not…if…I…keep…moving!” And he did indeed continue to move about, turning his jog into a march. Gus rolled his eyes and followed Shawn from as far back as he could, casually waving to various beautiful girls as they jogged along, trying to seem as cool and detached from Shawn’s arm-waving attention-grabbing foolishness.

They made it to the end of the pier and Shawn finally came to a stop , resting heavily against the guard rails cordoning the crowd away from a five-foot plunge into the icy-cold Pacific Ocean. “Time?” 

Gus stabbed the tiny off button on his stopwatch. “Twelve-fifty.”

“That’s gotta be wrong,” he moaned, resting his eyes for a minute. 

“What?! I timed it perfectly!” Gus replied. “When you said ‘go’ I pressed the little button!’”

Shawn frowned. “When I SAID it or when I yodeled it?” 

“I know you’re not questioning my methods.”

Shawn whined and started rubbing his forehead. Turning to face the ocean waves, he spread out his arms and gestured toward the teeming flotsam. “Smell that, Gus? The sweet oceanic scent of mother nature. She smells like a seashell fresh from the bottom of the ocean. It’s like she’s taken us into her salty bosom and 

“It smells like a crab shack at low tide, Shawn,” Gus replied. His super-sniffer also picked out something lying underneath all of that rot. “and cotton candy…And….Oh ugh!” he reeled away from the railing, covering his mouth and nose.

“What? What is it, Gus? What do you smell, honey? Do you need to go tinkle?”

Gus’ features collapsed into a glower, and he smacked Shawn across the back of the head, forcing a whine from his lips. The gesture shifted his perspective just enough to allow him to see beneath the pier, and it gave him an eyeful of what his nose had picked up; a bloated corpse, floating under the pylons, tied by its wrists.

The two men saw the body at the same time, shared a pregnant pause and a horrified stare.

Then they screamed like tiny, frightened children.

**** 

“The victim,” Carlton Lassiter declared, slapping his gloves into place, “is a well-nourished man of about forty years of age. Medium build, sandy hair, and a lovely collection of barnacles on his left buttocks.” He carefully picked up the man’s arm and examined the underside of his flesh. “Tissue is fairly necrotic. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s been out in the elements for around six months, which is how long Spencer will take to do a two-mile wind sprint at the marathon Friday.”

“Lassie. Dude,” Shawn said weakly.

Lassiter paid him no heed. “O’Hara, did you call the meat wagon?” 

“When we stopped for coffee.” Juliet O’Hara stood beside Shawn, gently rubbing his shoulder. He had been shivering for a good five minutes, and now he hunched over a cup of coffee as if it would sustain him for the coming interrogation. “Little sips,” she scolded him.

“All right,” Lassiter grumbled, his eagle eyes zeroing in on the fidgeting Gus. “Guster, did you see anything around the body?”

“The contents of my stomach,” Gus offered miserably.

“Not what I was getting at,” Lassie growled. 

“Let him mourn, Carlos. It was a good, noble sandwich,” Shawn sniveled. “It didn’t deserve to go out that way, man!”

“Mourn on your own dime, Spencer,” Lassiter replied. “Until we clear this up and get your statements, the two of you are in police custody.”  
Juliet climbed to her feet, facing off against her partner. “Carlton, do you think that’s really necessary?” Juliet gestured firmly behind her, toward her boyfriend. “I don’t think Shawn’s in any shape to testify to anything.”

Lassiter locked eyes with Spencer, who immediately began chattering his teeth and whimpering dramatically. He then took a look at Guster, who was stress-eating the biggest corndog he could find on the pier.

“Oh, I think they’ll be just fine,” Lassiter said flatly.

*** 

They convened in the morgue a few hours and four cups of coffee later, where Woody had conducted a fairly thorough examination of the corps du sol.

“Whatt’ve you got for us, Strode?” Carlton asked.

“Well…” Woody began. “He’s got nice lungs. They’re still pink, like a couple of shiny balloons.”

“…Please tell me you didn’t…” Juliet began.

“Oh no, no!” interjected Woody brightly. “I used them as replacement hot water bottles for my feet. These tootsies do not stay warm all on their lonesome down here anymore, let me tell you…”

Carlton promptly lost his temper. “Strode. Did you ID him?!” 

“As a matter of fact…” Woody wheeled over a wooden cart with a laptop nestled atop its trellis. “I took a dental scan and n impression of his teeth, scanned it into the criminal database, checked out a few missing persons files, called a couple of dentists….” Woody patted a plaster impression of the Doe’s skull, which sat right beside the laptop. “It turns out the USC poly forensics department’s been trying to get rid of this skeleton for a good four, five months now.” He wiggled his brows. “This’ll spice up my OK Cupid profile beautifully…”

“GET ON WITH IT!” Lassiter growled. 

“…The results,” continued Woody, “match a missing person’s case in Larchmont.” He tapped a tab, filling the screen with an image of an ordinary-looking man, white, with pale blond hair chopped into a fuzzy buzzcut and thin, pursed bubblegum colored lips. “Meet former USMC Westley Turner, Leader of Aphrodite’s Brigadiers and head pastor of the same-named organization in Santa Monica. He may or may not have still been an active member of that ‘church’ when somebody cracked his head like a brazil nut and threw him into the mighty Pacific.” 

“Wow, you actually made air quotes,” Shawn remarked. 

“I worship only one God, and that’s dear Xenu,” said Woody.

Gus’ lips had turned chalky gray in horror, but Shawn released a derisive snort. “That’s all well and good my man, but that can’t possibly be Westley. He doesn’t LOOK like a Westley.”

“SPENCER.”

Shawn continued, “his name from here on out should be Bob Q Squarepants.”

Lassiter glared at Juliet. “Control your boyfriend, O’Hara.”

“He’s living in God’s pineapple under the sea now.” Gus sniffled. “AKA heaven.” He retained the glazed look that 

“O’Hara,” Lassiter demanded through his gritted teeth. “Please.” 

“Did you just say please to me?” Juliet showed clear amusement at the very idea.

“Would you rather I shot him?” The idea sounded so tempting to Lassiter that Juliet automatically grabbed Shawn’s elbow. Lassiter stared at the picture. “He used to be quite the pretty boy. Somebody out there is probably missing him.”

“We’ll put him in the…Gus, why are you so freaked out?” Juliet eyeballed.

“All right!” Gus sighed. “You squeezed it out of me….”

“We did?” Juliet wondered.

“He’s clearly squwozen,” remarked Shawn.

“It started when I was in junior high,” Gus began. “Shawn spent the summer with his Aunt Matilda in Bainbridge.”

“Lovely woman,” Shawn interjected. “She smells like snack cakes and bakes the greatest snickerdoodles…”

Gus continued on heedlessly. “My mom made me take summer school classes so I wouldn’t miss Shawn as much. I took baking and candymaking. To make a long story short, one day I met a guy who was just as lonely as I was. To make a long story short, we started hanging out together after classes. He really loved my grandma’s peanut brittle. If food could be a God, he’d tell me, it’d be this peanut brittle. So as a joke I put a little crown on top of a can of peanut brittle and gave it to him. He was so happy – really really super happy – we left it out in the middle of the woods. And then he brought some other friends out to the can. By the time Shawn came back from his vacation, he had a huge crowd out there….hge didn’t even really need me anymore. We drifted apart, but I kept seeing him on those billboards down by Santa Clarita Pier. That’s how I found out he had his own religion.” 

“OH!” Shawn slapped his forehead. “Stinky Turner! How could I have forgotten! He used to wear his socks inside out and his grandfather’s underwear on the outside of his pants. He was in the military?!” Shawn squinted at the picture for a moment or two, arms crossed over his chest, confusion staining his features. 

“…So what you’re telling us is that you accidentally inspired someone to start his own cult?” Gus bobbed his head and Lassiter’s jaw crunched. “And this man started by worshipping a can of peanut brittle and ended up with a million dollar megachurch where he worshipped greek goddesses and was called ‘the New Falwell’ by the Atlantic Daily Review?” Gus nodded even more meekly than he had before. “Well, Guster, I have to hand it to you - your life’s far more interesting than I thought it was.”

Gus let out a whiny squeal of dismay, allowing Juliet to cut in. “Carlton, we need to set up a detail for Gus. There’s a chance…..” she glanced at Gus’ quivering lips and added, “a little, tiny, speck-sized tiny chance - that whoever killed this guy might come after him, depending on what he knows about how that church was founded.”

“Good point,” Lassiter slapped his hands palms-down upon the gurney. “You take him.”

“Oh, no can do,” Shawn said. “Juliet and I are planning on doing some hardcore training together for the marathon.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Some realllly hardcore stretching.”

“You’re dumping me on Lassie for sex!?” Gus whined.

“Dumping’s such a harsh word!” Shawn grinned. “Consider it a sleepover.”

“O’Hara,” Lassiter said, “if you abandon me to this I swear I will make your life a living parade of litter pick-ups and coffee runs!”

She simply responded by cuffing his ear. 

Lassiter groaned. “I’ll ask Marlowe to set an extra place for you. But until tonight,” he grabbed Juliet by the elbow, “we have a tabernacle to investigate. Try not to freak out in our absence, Guster.”

“I’m not freaked out!” Gus protested, drawing himself up and facing Lassiter down with a firm look. “I am too stressed to be blessed.”

“Strike that, reverse it,” suggested Shawn. 

“I’m bless and stressed,” he nodded.

“Allll right,” Lassiter rolled his eyes at Shawn. “You’re the man of the house ‘til we come back.”

“I’ll keep my big-boy shoes on,” declared Shawn.

Their exit went unnoticed by both Shawn and Gus, as Woody had poked each of them upon their shoulders. “Could I interest either of you boys in a nice, barnacle-covered shoe?”

*** 

“And that’s why I think we should start talking about getting Woody some help.”

Shawn tsked Gus as he steered him toward the sofa, allowing Gus to huddle on the couch in the Psych offices with a Toblerone in his palm. “Rest up, my shiny little friend. We need to keep you from taking a water nap with the fishes.”

“So why are you force-feeding me?”

“If you’re stuffed with food,” Shawn observed, “You won’t sink!”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. And he’s my EX friend,” Gus said. “AND if you hadn’t let your Aunt take you off for a dumb vacation we wouldn’t even be in this mess.”

“These are all valid points,” Shawn declared. “But none of them will get us a usable suspect. We’re going to have to paste our thinking caps on and really apply the old noodles to the puzzle.”

“You noodle,” Gus pouted. “I’ll be curled up in a ball singing Stevie Wonder to my chocolate bar.”

“Okay, buddy,” Shawn said, bending over the desk, puzzling out the autopsy photos he’d loaned from Woody. A little bit of research – to the tune of Gus singing “Shining Star” – encouraged him to keep on going until he had a complete solution. 

“AHA!” he crowed. “We’ve got a lead.” Shawn pointed to the screen. “It looks like there’s a bunch of missing persons reports coming out of Santa Clarita – and all of them have the same tattoo!”

Gus squinted at the screen. “That’s a Chiquita Banana sticker.”

“It’s even worse than I thought! Someone’s killing innocent bananas and feeding them to people before they kill them!”

“Get serious, man!” Gus piped. “This is my life we’re dealing with! And I’ve only got one to live!”

“But what if you have nine?! Maybe you’re secretly a cat?! GUS: do you need me to get you a pack of liver treats?!” 

“I DON’T WANT TO FIND OUT!” Gus grabbed Shawn by the shoulders and shook him slightly. “SHAWN! We need to focus!” Gus squatted down, looked at the reams of crime scene pictures. The Chiquita banana stickers were placed upon the victim’s stickers –and they were all saturated, having been dropped in the drink for some length of time before being fished out. Gus glanced toward Shawn, and quickly noted that repeated pattern had caught Shawn’s eyes – he had a clueface going on. 

“Four dead people, all wearing Chiquita banana stickers, all of them soaked.” He sucked his tongue, then finally came forth with his proclamation. “Notice, Mr. Gus, that the stickers are all placed dead smack center right in the victim’s palms. According to my extensive training with the illuminati…"

“…You never trained with the Illuminati, Shawn…”

“…And this Bing search, They’re trying to teach somebody a lesson about loyalty and ratting. Possibly to the media, possibly to the Feds….”

“…Or, possibly, to the IRS. And that somebody,” intervened Carlton from the doorway, “is one Sunny Van Winkle, Mister Turner’s former mistress.”

Shawn and Gus simultaneously noticed that Lassiter hadn’t donned his usual well-appointed and tailored suit; he was wearing a vermillion-colored toga, knotted at his waist and shoulder, and a fruit-laden wreath around his head.

They instantly burst into gales of laughter.

“That’s right – laugh it up at the armed man.” That was enough to bring their merriment to a quick end. 

“Lassie, why’re you here and why are you dressed so…colorfully?” Shawn tilted his head. “Seriously, where can I get one of those?

“Because, Spencer,” replied Lassiter, “O’Hara and I spent the day infiltrating the Aphroditian’s cult. They were fairly quick to give up their secrets – and why wouldn’t they, under the combined assault of myself and O’Hara. Unfortunately, Miss Van Winkle got away and until we find her again we’ll have to take…different measure to ensure Guster’s safety until we can find her again.”

“Where did you stow Jules?” Shawn wondered.

“She’s in the car. She…prefers it that way at the moment. In any event, now that I’m here, I should let you both know why I’m here. You both knew this wasn’t a social visit, didn’t you?” 

“No. Your very official badge and your large, shiny guns weren’t dead giveaways,” Shawn replied.

Lassiter pulled out a summons. “Burton Guster, you are hereby commended to the protection of the State of California until the capture of one Sunny Van Winkle.”

“You’re putting me in protective custody?” Gus’ eyes watered. “But what about the American Duo finals? What about my birthday?!”

Shawn immediately threw himself across Gus’ chest. “No! You’re not gonna take my best friend away.”

“I’m gonna miss having fun so much,” Gus sniveled.

“Oh for the Love of GOD!” Lassiter growled. “Guster, we don’t want to lock you away. Until we find the heiress apparent, you’re going to stay with Marlowe and myself. In MY house.”

“But what about me?” Shawn wined, quickly adopting a cockney accent. “Please, Sir, it would be awfully cold without my best friend warming the couch right by my side!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Spencer – you’re going home to O’Hara, who will continue training you for our little duel of the feet. You have many miles to go. Many, many, MANY miles.”

“As much as I’d love to talk about my stomach cramp – inducing exercise that’s lying ahead of me,” Shawn said, “I think I’ll be spending my time with Gus at your casa for the next week. We can make it a slumber party.”

“Dibs on the Cheez Wiz!” shouted Gus.

“I’ll bring the marshmallows – oh, Las” He took Lassiter aside and quicky whispered into his ear, “don’t let Gus drink soda, it triggers his irritable bowel syndrome.” 

“I have pills for that now…never mind. Can we do it, Lassiter?” 

Lassie growled. “If you insister – but you’re going to have to tell Juliet.”

The threesome traipsed out to Juliet’s cruiser – and once she turned in their direction they understood why she had chosen to stay hidden in the car’s confines; she was covered, head-to-toe, in silver bodypaint that gleamed from beneath her tasteful white toga.

“I’ll tell you later,” she said, before Shawn could say anything particularly foolish. They piled into the cruiser and headed back to Lassie’s condo without another word.

**** 

Within minutes Juliet strode out of Carlton’s shower, dressed in one of Marlowe’s old nightgowns. “I rinsed the entire inside of the shower,” she told Carlton before he could complain. 

“Thank you,” he snapped, rifling through the morning paper while occupying his recliner. Shawn had settled in the kitchen and had treated himself to a triple-decker sandwich, while Gus was curled up on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn. Marlowe had taken a trip to the market and 

“So now we wait,” Gus frowned, cuddling the popcorn.

“Yes, we wait,” Lassiter replied.

“It’s not going to be that bad, Gus.” Juliet tried to comfort him. “You’ll be just fine! We’ll keep you completely safe.”

“It’s easy for you to say, Juliet. You’re not the one who might die while you and Lassiter are in the bathroom.”

“Don’t worry. Carlton and I will never use the bathroom together,” Juliet said.

“Thank you,” Shawn said, dribbling mayonnaise across the counter. “That mental image nearly made me ralph on this beautiful sandwich.”

“Speaking of ralphing, how’s your training going?” Carlton prodded.

Shawn had an answer for him – even though it was delivered around a mouthful of turkey sandwich. “Can’t talk, carbo-loading,” he said, and crammed the sandwich into his mouth.

At that moment the front door creaked open, and Lassiter was on his feet helping Marlowe unload the groceries. From that moment on, he only had eyes for his wife, which allowed Gus and Juliet to help Shawn ‘train’ by running wind-sprints up and down the hallway until Rosemary popped her head out her front door. Which was well and good enough, since Shawn barely managed to make it back into the apartment without gracing her potted geraniums with his sandwich.

Then they all paired off, and somebody – Gus only knew that it wasn’t by his design – flicked on an old black and white movie. Soon necking ensued. For everyone, of course, except for Gus.

He sat there among the couples, feeling as out of place as any human could feel among close friends. When it got to be too much for him to bear, he started hinting that it was time for everyone to separate for the night.

Then he flat-out said it. “Why don’t we all go to bed?” Gus wondered through gritted teeth.

And for once, they listened to him without further concern for his safety. Well, Marlowe did tuck him in like a tiny German hausfrau, and Juliet outfitted him with a walkee-talkee so he could communicate directly with Shawn if need be. Shawn tried to linger in the living room with him for a moment more; tried to watch a few minutes of The Wizard when it popped onscreen. But the lure of alone time with Juliet proved to be too strong, and he too ended up leaving for a tete au tete with his girlfriend.

Gus lay listening to them chattering, then the subtle squeaking of bedsprings, for far too long before getting up for a root beer.

“Man, what a crappy day. Everybody being all coupled up, somebody wanting to…kill me.” He gulped, furtively glanced toward the door. “And here I am, all alone.” He patted the roll of cheese spread as he took it out of the fridge. “Except for you, Mister WisPride. You’ve never let me down. Whenever I feel sad and lonely, you’re always there to help me feel better.” He trailed off, frowning. “Listen to me! Man, no wonder I prayed to a jar when I was a kid!” Again, he mentally blamed Shawn for his mess (if only he’d written, if only he’d called), then wondered why things had gotten so ominously quiet.

It was the last thought he had before a blow to the back of the head knocked him out cold.

**** 

“Gus!”

The morning air was rent in twain by the sound of Shawn’s frantic cries. Juliet was armed and dressed before he could come to retrieve her – not that he would have had the werewithal to find her in his distraught state.

Juliet scoured the kitchen until she noticed it – two fingerprints on the oven, two black smudges on the porcelain white handle. She and a sleepy Lassiter rushed the prints to the crime lab.

When they came back, they were a perfect match for Sunny’s.

**** 

Gus, meanwhile, had been stowed in the bottom of a dry well, where Sunny had decided to keep him until he divulged the secrets of the religious ‘power’ he’d passed along to her boyfriend. But Gus had none. So it was starvation and beatings, until morale improved. 

And Gus, with his own keen observational brilliance, spent his every hour trying to save himself.

*** 

It was Shawn who figured out exactly where Gus had disappeared to. The old well was deep and wet, located miles into the twig-laden, moss carpeted woods. It was one of the few places he and Shawn had never gone to in tandem.

“How do you know about it?” Juliet was speeding them both to their destination, beating red lights by inches as her siren wailed.

Shawn had learned all about it and travelled there multiple times all by himself, just to spite Gus. He’d started climbing the trees and staging little battles with his He-Man figures on the branches, stuffing himself with peanut butter sandwiches. 

“That’s why I was never mad with Gus for hanging out there with Weird Turner! It was such a neat hiding spot that I could understand why he kept it to himself.”

“Save it and tell it to Guster,” said Lassiter. They were inches from the hiding spot, inches from Van Winkle’s doorstep. They found her first – two miles up the road with a shotgun, one she was fully prepared to use on Gus.

“I’m going to have to ask you to get off my property,” she growled. 

“We’re going to have to get you off my best friend!” Shawn declared.

“It was always about him,” she lamented. “I wanted Westley to love me, to worship me, but it was NEVER about what I wanted! First it was about living up to what he thought Gus would have wanted him to to do with the church. THEN it was about Aphrodite and Minerva and every other Goddess he could think up. But not ONCE did he stop and think about me. Well, now he’s dead…AND all of the people who stood between me and controlling interest of the church. Now who’s important, huh?!”

Shawn, in his simple statement, had managed to distract Van Winkle for just long enough to allow Juliet to slide through the forest floor like a commando. She delivered an expert blow to the back of her neck and knocked the killer unconscious in the space of a single breath. 

Shawn grinned at Jules as she surfaced like Venus herself bobbing on the surface of a foam-covered ocean. “SO badass,” he sighed.

“Could you please stop drooling for five minutes?” glowered Lassiter. 

“Right, right – Uh, Lassie, go cuff her, I’ll go save Gus!” 

“I’m not taking orders from you, you simple-“

“CARLTON!” shouted Juliet, who had cuffed Sunny’s ankles and now needed Lassiter’s assist to get her wrists manacled.

With a sneer, Lassiter crossed the ground and helped Juliet get her woman.

**** 

Shawn, meanwhile, had broken into a sprint and was racing over the branch-dotted ground, stirring leaves and chaos as he rushed to find his best friend’s hiding spot. He stumbled and blustered, tripping and crawling up the hill until he found the place where the land cut off and rolled his way down the embankment, calling Gus’ name.

“Shawn?!” came Gus’ voice, strong and yet echoing up from the ground like a trapped demon’s. Shawn crawled to the rim of a large hole.

“Gus?”

“SHAWN!”

“GUS!”

If they could hugged they would have, but instead Shawn extended his right hand. Gus started jumping for it, but the distance between them is too great. 

“Come on, buddy,” Shawn encouraged him. “You need to find something to climb on!”

Gus searched the interior of the crevasse with desperate eyes. Finally he noticed a tiny shelf made of solid earth a few inches from him; he mounted it quickly and reached up for Shawn’s hands.

But the distance was still too much.

There was only one thing for Shawn to do – and while stuck at a crime scene with his head buried literally in a hole, it was a less than optimal notion. But because it was Gus – and because he loved him – he did it anyway. “Help!” Shawn called, against the sodden earth. “Help! Alpha Tango Tango Tango Lambada!”

Silence answered him. And then, after a hopeless minute, a twig cracked. “Shawn!” It was Juliet, rushing up the hill.

“It’s Gus,” he said. “He’s down there, I can’t reach him!”

Juliet didn’t hesitate to act; she slid her arms around Shawn’s waist, extending his reach, inch by inch.

He could do nothing but try to make conversation. “Are you okay?” Shawn wondered.

“I can wiggle my toes,” Gus said.

“That’s a good sign! That’s a really good sign, buddy! Just keep wiggling your toes until I can reach you!” Shawn shouted over his shoulder, “Jules! I need more slack!”

She gave it to him, but their hands remained yards away.

“CARLTON!” bellowed Juliet. Apparently backup had arrived to collar Sunny, because his confident stroll belied the worth of a man who had received praise. Confusion marred his features, and Juliet said, “Gus is down here!”

“I want Spencer to know I’m ruining my freshly-pressed pants for this,” Carlton said, but there was a sudden surge from behind Shawn, and suddenly his fingers were within brushing distance of Gus’. 

Gus leapt, Shawn latched on, and the four of them pulled Gus with a firm tug to the surface.

**** 

A few minutes later they had gathered together around the ambulance, all of them swaping stories about the madness of Sunny. 

“So it was all about jealousy?” Shawn wondered, huddling with Gus under a metallic Thinsulate blanket.

“Can you blame her for being jealous of my smooth goodness?” Gus asked.

“It wasn’t even about your body, Gus,” pointed out Juliet. “She hated having anybody come between the two of them, even a greek goddess.”

“Now, Juliet, don’t be jealous. Gus DOES have a body like Arnold with a Denzel face.”

“…That was from Whattaman, Shawn.”

“Yes it was, and you are a mighty, might good man.” He clapped a scowling Gus upon his shoulder leading Lassiter to stand and create his own speech.

“The point of today’s excursion is a simple one, and a noble one – we learned something today.”

“Preach it, Chef,” called Shawn.

“…We learned the invaluable worth of teamwork, the power of friendship, and the incredible importance of keeping in touch with the people you love. Even if that DOES mean violating their sense of personal security in a way that’s completely defensible under the bylaws of code twelve, sub-rule b. in the California state penal code.”

“Does that mean I’m off the hook for that marathon?”

“No, Spencer. That means when we meet on a field of honor in a few weeks I’ll best you with dignity. And if it comes down to that, I’ll send O’Hara a tasteful spray of baby’s breath for the funeral.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“That’s the other part of the equation – friendly rivalry. You can’t have friendship without a little bit of kind joshing or violent dehydration. And sorry about driving you out of the room, Guster; sometimes a man has needs that his fellow human being can’t comprehend.”

“Riiight,” Shawn said, squirming off the back of the ambulance. “I’ll see you at the marathon.”

“Be there, Spencer. Don’t make me send a squad car around to dig you up.”

“I’ll be driving him, Carlton.”

“And don’t encourage O’Hara to drive you to the Gulp and Freeze instead.”

There were mumbled half promises made as they wrapped the case up.

*** 

Four days, a twisted ankle and a series of stomach cramps later, Shawn Spencer crossed the finish line of the Santa Barbara Marathon in five thousand and eighty fourth place.

And all of his friends were there to cheer him on as he staggered his way across the line.

Even Carlton Lassiter.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction uses characters from **Psych** , all of whom are the property of the **USA Network**. No money was gained from the writing of this fanfiction and all are used under the strictures of of the Berne Convention.


End file.
